Author: Rabid/Raeann
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Skycaia & Zyrya
Pairing: Spike/Buffy/Angel
Summary: This is a sequel to my ficlet Cliffhanger. It is PWP. The title is based on the whole S/B or B/A argument. Like there is no alternative but Buffy choosing either Spike or Angel...except her choosing Xander. I wrote this as a present for my buddy Mary who shares this site and set me a challenge: She wanted Post-Chosen S/B/A without Angel dominance, or Spike wimpiness or Buffy being turned into a vampire or anyone being vile. Since I believe Angel is a closeted gay man and I can't imagine him having sex with Buffy at all…this really WAS a challenge for me. But for the record...the love spoken of here is REAL, in my mind. Buffy loves Angel and Angel loves Buffy and the same goes for Spike...nobody is using anyone else and I hope that comes across.
Previously: In my story CLIFFHANGER, Buffy came to
PART ONE
Hot rain fell at a sharp angle. Sheeting down, it created a cataract-like dreamscape, softening even the garish offers of X-rated entertainment along the seedy waterfront streets. It drummed on the ground and in the gutter and off the hoods of parked cars. Two hours after sundown, steam still puffed from the puddles on the slowly cooling pavement. The clouds of rising moisture added to Angel's visual handicap. An occasional car whooshed past, spraying its rooster tail across his shoes. Ignoring the splashing and the squish of his sopping socks, he paused to check the wind.
The muscles in his back coiled tighter. He narrowed his focus, honing in on his prey until he looked like nothing so much as a terrier offered a strip of bacon. The resemblance did not go unnoted.
She was close, very close. Angel was sure of it. The night trembled with her.
Out of habit he knuckled across his eyes, attempting to check for on-coming traffic before he stepped into the street. Tenting his palm to shield his vision, he squinted, hoping to pick out headlight beams from the neon prism deluge. It was hopeless. The rain blinded and nearly deafened him. His most reliable resource was scent and a predatory intuition.
He didn’t need much more. After two days of methodical searching, Buffy Summers was finally in the neighborhood.
The knowledge made the loss of her trail even more heartbreaking. But Angel wasn’t ready to admit defeat. He rotated ninety degrees, trying to pick up the delicate thread of the vanished Summers’ scent. He’d been following it since sundown, tracing the Slayer through the rain and heat. It hadn’t been easy. This close to the river, the streets were filthy. Any number of sickening smells assaulted his nostrils each time he inhaled.
Angel’s mood deteriorated rapidly in the face of his failure. It was a miserable night to be out. His three hundred dollar shoes were ruined, squeaking and uncomfortable. The remains of wringing wet Armani silk clung to his skin. Despite the heat, his body temperature felt crocodilian and he was desperate to shake a migraine inducing post-nasal drip.
The drip spoke. “You’ve lost her again, haven’t you?”
“Spike,” Angel growled without turning around. “Fuck off!”
Launching himself away from the cub and the curb, Angel angled for an alley on the far side of the street. The trail was no stronger in that direction but he had hopes of picking it up before Spike got too happy. As it was, the boy practically skipped along in his grandsire’s wake. Angel had never seen him so exuberant. It was having her in town, of course.
‘And seeing her elude me,’ Angel thought. ‘I swear my misery makes him blissful.’
“Real vampires don’t get head colds, mate,” Spike informed in a distressingly jubilant tone as they entered the relative shelter of the alleyway. Here the rain came down in a straight line rather than at a steep slant.
“It’s not a cold,” Angel groused. “It’s an allergy.”
“Poofy hair gel?”
“Or that swill you have dabbed behind your ears.”
“It’s Dolce and Gabbana, you heathen...very posh. And Buffy happens to fancy it,” Spike remarked with studied casualness. Something caught his eye at roof level and he quickly looked in the opposite direction. “Not that you would know what she likes.”
“It will take more than toilet water, boy,” Angel muttered under his breath.
“Lucky I got a bit more then, idnit?” Spike said, bouncing on the balls of his feet and weaving from side to side like a boxer. “Unlike you.” He was smirking. Angel couldn’t see him clearly but he could hear telltale raindrops hitting teeth. “For example, I know where she is right now.”
The implication was too much to endure. Since pirating the Shanshu, Spike wasn’t even a vampire. He was some kind of chimerical being, now…a living ghost. The boy was a warm blood. And, unless he was lying about his sense of smell, there was no way he could have picked up Buffy's trail. Was he lying? The thought gave Angel pause. But, no. The best nose in the world couldn’t locate one girl in this deluge. Angel suspected that Spike was just tagging along on the hunt, hoping to undermine his confidence.
It was working. Sufficiently provoked, Angel shot one hand out from the shoulder to seize Spike by the throat. Thrusting the young annoyance into the alley’s brick wall, he pressed his full weight into him and growled, “Where?”
His only answer was a Cheshire cat smile that glowed through the gloom. They scuffled, wrestling for the upper hand. Slippery wet skin, silk and leather offered little purchase for their clawing fingers. A t-shirt ripped. Button-down buttons burst free of their moorings. Only Angel’s superior height allowed him to gain a slight advantage.
“Get off of me,
If Spike was no longer one of the undead, he was still supernaturally strong. Even so, Angel might have muscled through to a win if one of his leather-soled wingtips hadn’t slipped on the wet pavement. He lurched backward, windmilling his arms for balance and Spike stepped into the breach, powering a haymaker into his jaw. It was a solid punch. Combined with the loss of equilibrium, it knocked Angel off his feet. He twisted like a cat in mid-air and tried to sight the ground but in the driving rain he misjudged. The pavement hit him harder than Spike had.
Spike followed up his left with a boot to the ribcage. Angel rolled under the blow, catching at his opponent’s ankle. Spike was too quick. He twisted free of the grip before falling victim to the same oily patch of mud that had claimed Angel. He sat down suddenly with a grunt and thump. Angel pounced on top of him. As soon as they connected, they both started pummeling. Angel went for the pin but Spike squirmed and spat and punched and cursed so much that neither of them gained any ground.
Perched like a gargoyle, Buffy watched the bitch-slapping brawl from her rooftop vantage point. Angel’s attempt to get a firm grip on Spike resembled nothing so much as someone trying to gift-wrap a live orangutan. When the mêlée threatened to become more than a harmless wrestling match, Buffy decided to intervene. She vaulted over the eaves and dropped from the sky, blue raincoat forming billowing wings in her wake. Ricocheting off the lid of a dumpster, she did a handspring into the center of the alleyway and made a perfect soft-kneed landing. Neither combatant noticed her arrival over the drumming of the rain and the grunts of their fight.
The storm had ripped heavy strands of Buffy’s hair free of all restraint and plastered them to her face and neck. Her shell-pink blouse had gone translucent. Hands on hips, she studied the tangle of limbs rolling around in the puddles before her. There was a feral light in her eyes. She took a moment to assess the situation, before striding briskly into the fray. Her stiletto heels clicked on the pavement.
An arm was the first body part that came to hand. Buffy seized on it and pulled. Angel, a mastiff disturbed at dinner, reacted instinctively. Snapping and snarling, he turned away from Spike’s charge to lash out at the perceived new threat. Prepared for this response, Buffy wrenched his arm around as she danced sideways, easily avoiding his strike and sending him tumbling across the alleyway. Unfortunately, her defensive move put her in the path of Spike’s forward momentum. He hit her, slightly left of center, and the two of them went down in a splash of bottled blonde.
They rolled over each other for several yards, each vying to hold onto the top spot and both getting thoroughly scuffed and muddy in the process. Buffy won. On the third or fourth rotation they came to a stop with Buffy straddling a semi-reclined Spike at mid-thigh. She braced a hand on his abdomen to steady herself as she sat up straight. Spike's stomach muscles twitched under her splayed fingers. Noting the slight shudder, Buffy let her line of sight drift down until she was staring in shameless fascination at Spike’s suddenly obvious erection. It held her attention. Her lower lip trembled and raindrops splashed from her lashes and the tip of her nose.
Angel watched them from a short distance away, his face as dark and violent as the sky overhead. They were both gulping in air, chests heaving in sychronicity. A red mist danced behind Angel's eyes when Spike, tongue accenting his suggestive smile, let his own gaze travel due south. Buffy’s raincoat had slid from her shoulders to her elbows. Her drenched blouse and sheer bra, surrendering to the rain, did nothing but draw attention to her puckered nipples. Spike drank in the view and Buffy showed no sign of girlish modesty.
As Angel looked on in astonishment, she let the raincoat fall away entirely and inched forward into Spike’s lap, settling over the bulge of his manhood with a contented little sigh. The sound Spike made in reply was designed to liquefy internal organs. Angel couldn't help responding in kind anymore than he could look away. Spike's curls were storm tossed. His face was transformed by an inner light. He had never seemed so vulnerable, so alive or, frankly...so undeniably sexy.
A kiss was inevitable.
When it came, it left Angel feeling strangely detached. His fingers and toes felt numb. He couldn’t move or speak. A tiny clinical portion of his brain continued making observations. He was struck by the way Spike and Buffy fit together. They were both small, bleached blondes. Both witty and wild. They suited. As the kiss deepened, Angel found he could easily imagine them having sex, cream skin and tawny.
To his surprise, his cock stirred at the thought. Sitting on the ground, knees drawn to his chest, Angel recalled the feel, taste and depth of both of them. It wasn’t a comfortable recollection because he never thought of himself as a deviant. Angelus was the one with unusual appetites. He had taken a manly interest in Dru’s young pup. It embarrassed Angel to remember how his mouth used to water at the thought of a night on the town with the boy. And if Spike hadn’t been inclined to play along at first, he had shown remarkable talent after one or two nasty fights put him in the mood.
Buffy also liked a good fight.
Angel could imagine them together. They would be unbelievable…fucking like hot butter sliding down the throat.
Angel caught himself thinking about it. If he could have blushed he would have as, all in a rush, it dawned on him how incredibly inappropriate his reaction was to the sight of another man playing free and loose with his girl. He rushed to rectify the lapse.
“Alright message received,” he rumbled angrily. “Now, please, just…go get a room.”
Buffy jerked away from Spike, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. “Oh…oh, god, Angel,” she panted. Scrambling on hands and knees, she crossed the few feet of pavement separating them. Angel caught her out of habit, reflexively, barely listening as she babbled, “I didn’t think…didn’t mean to…oh…can you forgive me?”
“For making out with Spike while I am sitting right here?”
“Hey, nobody asked you to gawk,” Spike said. “In fact, you can move along any time now.”
“No,” Buffy protested. She shot a stern glare over her shoulder before drawing back to stare into Angel’s face. There were tears in her eyes. “I just…I…”
“Don’t love him?” Spike prompted gleefully. As he popped to his feet, he gave his rival a faux moue of pity. “So sorry.”
“Right,” Angel breathed. He was having trouble speaking. It felt like someone was jumping up and down on his chest.
The rain had slacked off but there was still a watery film in front of his eyes.'I'm a champion,' he thought, 'I can do this. It won't hurt any more than...say...a dragon burning out my liver.' He forced out the words.“You
finally decided. On Spike...You don’t love me any more.
I understand.”
“No,” Buffy repeated. “I love you more than anything.” There was a strangled cry of alarm behind her. She cast a quick glance at Spike, her eyes pleading for understanding.
Bitterness marred Spike's beauty. “Oh, right, then,” he sulked. Waving one hand at the spot where they’d just kissed, he nodded as if catching on that the joke was at his expense. “So all this was just you sayin’ ‘Hello’ I imagine.”
Seeing his hurt expression, Buffy was already amending her declaration, “More than anything except Spike.”
Angel and Spike spoke simultaneously, “You…?” “Wait…”
Buffy puffed out an impatient sigh. This was going to be harder than she’d imagined. And that was saying something. She’d been dreading this conversation for two days, ever since she’d learned Spike was alive. To buy a little time, she stooped to recover her discarded raincoat. Everyone waited while she put it on again. She lingered over the action as long as possible, not knowing how to explain what she felt for her ex-lovers. She loved them both, differently but with the same intensity.
“Why do you think I was considering Xander’s offer?” she asked at last.
“One too many knocks to the head?” Spike suggested.
Angel chortled in appreciation before recalling that, right at this moment, he loathed the boy. And he wasn’t really fond of Buffy either.
'She’s mine. My soulmate,' Angel groused internally. 'What the hell does she mean ‘except Spike’? I saw her first.' Spike was going to ruin things with Buffy just like he screwed up the Shanshu. Angel didn't think he could take it. He would almost rather it was Xander sleeping with her…giving her fat grandkids… 'oh, fuck…If Spike can give her children…'
The wonder of the concept gave him pause.
'They would be my kids in a way,' he reasoned. 'Blood of my blood.'
Angel got a glow of what could only be paternal pride as he realized they were all related in blood. Buffy’s blood had nourished him in his illness. He could still feel it in the structure of his cells, trace the pattern of her DNA within his own. Spike had shanshued back to life via Angel’s blood. Blood made family. Vampires knew this. They relied on it. Angel’s blood had created Drusilla and Drusilla in turn had sired Spike. Was that the attraction? He wondered.
'Am I drawn to them both by the blood in their veins?' Angel wondered. 'Does it call to me? Does it tie us all together?'…
“She only wanted you because she couldn’t have me,” he’d once told Spike. But perhaps the real reason was more complex. What if Buffy couldn’t help wanting Spike? Maybe they couldn’t help falling in love. If they all stopped fighting the attraction, if they let it pull them in, they could be one.
Spike and Buffy were arguing. Angel made a conscious effort to follow the debate as he climbed to his feet. It seemed to be about who knew more about love. Angel started dabbing at the mud on his trousers.
“Because you had to have the last word,” Buffy was shouting angrily. “You couldn’t just accept what I told you and…”
“Accept that you loved me but were all over him?” Spike interrupted, stabbing a finger in Angel’s general direction but keeping a visual laser lock on the Slayer. “Not bloody likely! Tha’s not love.”
“Oh, yes right! I forgot. You’re the expert on other people’s feelings. It wasn’t enough for you was it? That I loved you as much as him? You wanted all or nothing. But I just can’t deliver that, Spike.” Buffy sounded desperate now, pleading with him to understand. “I’m telling you the truth. I love you more than anything on this earth…but Angel. I loved him first. I never intended to love anyone else. I can’t choose between you, hurt one of you like that. All I can do is try to build a different kind of life with Xander.”
“There’s another option,” Angel heard his voice saying and almost started in surprise.
Buffy and Spike did. They turned as one to stare at him. Finding he was the center of attention, Angel cleared his throat. He wondered what he would say next. The words tumbled out of his mouth without the conscious direction of his brain.
“Let’s just look at this logically." He turned toward Buffy. "You say you love Spike. I don’t see why, exactly.” Before either one of them could protest, he rushed on. “But I am willing to believe you when you say you do. And you love me, too. We belong together. You say you can’t let go of Spike and you don’t want to choose between us. And somehow this all adds up in your mind to…Xander?”
“He’s a good man.”
“He’s a prince,” Angel grumped. “But marrying him? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone,” Buffy explained, sounding as exasperated as anyone would who had already told Spike the same thing five times. “Why is that so hard to understand? I’ll never be able to replace what I have with you,” she looked back at Spike, “Or you. I just don’t have enough heart left. But I could have other relationships. I want to have a family again…companionship.”
“Spike’s all oxygen dependent now,” Angel said. “He could give you children.” Honestly, he was just full of good ideas. The light of hope in Buffy's eyes made him qualify the promise. “Maybe…at least, he could try.”
“You saying you’re going to step aside?”
Judging by his tone, Spike couldn’t believe his ears and before the words were out of his mouth, Buffy was shaking her head. “I don’t want that, Angel,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it if you got all self-sacrifice-y and noble. It would poison any chance I have for happiness. I have to leave. It’s the best thing for everyone.”
“I beg to differ,” Angel said firmly. Holding up a hand to forestall Spike, he turned a serious face to Buffy. “I’m not being noble here. That’s not what I meant at all.” He paused before stressing his next point. “What I’m saying is: I won’t ask you to,” lifting his line of sight, he caught his rival’s eye, “choose.”
Spike blinked at him. “Wha—?” It took a few seconds for comprehension hit. When it did, he pulled himself up sharply. “Oh, no…no, you nance…that would be…NO…I’m not sharing.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Buffy’s not some two-shilling salt, mate,” Spike reminded. “And I don’t see why I should let you in at all.”
“Because if you don’t she’s leaving,” Angel snarled. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. But I don’t see us having that many options.”
“I don’t see us having this one,” Spike returned. He shot a sidelong glance at Buffy. “Right, pet?”
Feeling clueless enough to body double for Alicia Silverstone, Buffy looked from one ex-lover to the other. The shift in Angel’s bearing told her she was missing something important. Spike was favoring her with an expectant stare as if waiting for an answer. But Buffy didn’t understand the question. She mentally went over Angel’s remarks.
He didn’t want her to be alone. He wasn’t offering to bow out of the picture. Spike could give her children. But he didn’t want to share. She didn’t have to leave. She wouldn’t have to choose between them.
“Oh.” It was a single syllable on a soft breath. “You mean the three of us could—? I…” A deep blush poured from Buffy's hairline to the soles of her feet and she shuddered. “That would be…that’s…”
“Sick,” Spike pronounced, taking his cue from her evident mortification. “And shocking.” He glowered at Angel in a good imitation of indignation. “I’m surprised at you.”
Angel was a little surprised, too. Feeling the burn of shame, he stared at the ground as he mumbled, “It was just an idea, really. Thought if we could…compromise…it was worth a shot! You wouldn’t have to leave. I mean…if we all…but…of course, that would be wro—ngOOOOF!” His arms were suddenly full of Buffy. She had launched a flying leap at his torso and latched on with every limb.
“That is the sweetest…most wonderful…giving…loving…perfect thing…” Words failed her but she kept on expressing her delight.
With her legs wrapped around Angel’s waist, she kissed him randomly between each phrase until she happened on his lips. Her vitality caused a candle of warmth to flicker to life in his dark heart. It was nearly extinguished a moment later when Spike joined them.
He made his presence known by fisting up a handful of Buffy’s wet hair at the nape of her neck and pulling her halfway off Angel. Buffy held on with her knees, applying fierce pressure as Spike bent her body like a bow. When he had her partially in his arms, he delivered another tonsil-snog.
“I thought you were shocked,” Angel grumbled, put out by Spike's interruption.
“Was,” Spike admitted when he and Buffy came up for air. “Over it.”
That said, he returned to the Slayer’s lips, making her squirm in delight. Angel didn’t like it but he didn’t complain again. Chiefly, because Buffy was rocking a hot slickness against his belly as she bridged back to her other lover. Also, her breasts were bobbing and bouncing and practically begging for Angel's attention. He slid a hand up under her shirt to oblige. At first, he was gentle, swirling the cup of his palm over the swell of softness. But as Spike applied more tongue, Buffy’s nipples hardened and she began to buck and shimmy, emboldening Angel to pinch and tug at the tiny peak.
“Oh, Angel,” she panted at the next break for breath.
He couldn’t help flashing a triumphant grin at Spike, who responded by reaching around to slap his grandsire on the flank. “Don’t get cocky, peaches. The night’s still young.”
“And before it is too much older I am going to have both of you moaning my name,” Angel growled.
Buffy went rigid in astonishment. She started struggling against her united lovers, turning her cheek to hot kisses as she tried to think clearly. What could Angel mean by…? It almost sounded like… She braced her hands, one on each man’s shoulder, and pushed away, letting her feet find the ground.
“What do you mean ‘both of us’?” There was a look of incredulity on her face. “Angel? You’re not…? I mean…you and Spike don’t…?”
“Perish the thought,” Spike gasped. But she could see he was making an effort not to smirk. She knew that expression, intimately. It was his ‘Now you’re catching on’ face.
“Of course not,” Angel quickly denied. Spike made a derisive hissing noise. “That is…we have…but not lately…not recently…not now.”
“But…but…you’re not gay.”
“Well, I’m not,” Spike said.
“Yeah,” Angel snorted facetiously. “Funny, I don’t remember holding you down.”
“You did,” Spike insisted, before hedging, “At least, at first. You drugged the blood, too. And there were chains, as I recall.”
“Chains,” Buffy said in a small voice as her worldview took another body blow.
“He was a little repressed,” Angel said with a shrug.
“Got you back for that. didn’t I?” Spike said. He was eyeing Angel with a touch of real animosity. “You and Dru both.”
Buffy T-ed her hands. “Okay, time out for the incredibly wigged to go ‘ewww’!” She sucked in a deep breath and then, holding her arms rigid to her sides and squeezing her face into a pucker, went, “EWWW!”
“Oh, come on, pet,” Spike puffed. “We were vampires, not cub scouts. I mean. you knew we lived together.”
“But I didn’t think you…well…I guess I didn’t ever consider…”
“It’s not like I prefer men,” Angel said.
“Right,” Spike drawled eyeing him up and down. “That would be Angelus?”
“So you never…?” Buffy said, addressing Spike. “With men, I mean…other than Angel and…with the chains and…okay, bad scene in Buffy’s head.”
“Some women fancy it, luv,” Spike said deciding not to mention her friend Webs until a later date. His tone was conciliatory and thankfully Angel kept his peace, giving him working room. If there was one thing Spike excelled at it was getting around Buffy’s aversions.
“Women were involved?”
Spike nodded. “Quite a few of them get off on seeing two men going at it. Angelus and I would run across that sort all the time. And then there are loads more that just fantasize…write stories. I caught Andrew downloading one once: Mulder and Krycek shag ‘til one of them busts a nad. Hideous writing. But there are some good ones too; from Harry Potter to Horatio Hornblower.”
“You’re kidding?” Angel couldn’t help saying, stealing the words right out of Buffy’s mouth. Spike gave his grandsire a ‘you are not helping’ look before returning his attention to their beloved.
“Point is: I don’t think it’s unnatural…one woman and two men.”
“Usually the men are…doing it...doing things to or with the woman though, right?” Buffy was remembering the nasty videos Spike had introduced one night during their affair. It was the day before their mind-altering excursion to the waterfront, the day he had familiarized her with the concept of double penetration.
“You’re a woman, luv. We wouldn’t do it without you. You might enjoy it, watching me and the poof tussle. Remember when you said you wanted to see us wrestle naked in oil?”
“Excuse me,” Angel barked, shocked to his core.
“I never said naked.”
'Thought it, maybe,' Buffy mentally added, 'But I definitely didn't say it.'
Perforce, she was thinking about it again. Angel’s heavy body and Spike’s sleek one. The thick, twisted shaft and the longer, thinner one, both so very talented. She could see them in her mind’s eye, slick and shiny with oil, plunging…straining…quivering…spewing cream. Manly fingers grasping, manly lips parted in gasps of ecstasy. Her heart beat a little faster and she frowned over the reaction. She was usually possessive. The thought of Angel with Faith or Spike with Anya made her furious. But somehow this the idea of them together didn’t engender jealousy. It made her reflect on a hundred other dirty things they might all do to one another.
Seeing her thaw, Spike sidled in close to nuzzle her neck. “We can play any game you want, baby. I’d only be doing it for you.”
All remaining stiffness melted out of her. Clawing into Spike's duster, Buffy wriggled around to face him. Her mouth found his and they merged, love radiating from them. True love, Angel realized. It was as real as anything he had ever witnessed. He watched in awe as they broke the kiss, leaned their brows together and stared into each other’s eyes.
‘How the hell does he do that?’ Angel wondered. Feeling vaguely uneasy at being shut out, he cleared his throat. There was a gratifying reaction.
“Sorry, peaches.” “Sorry, Angel.” They said in tandem, both backing off.
“So it’s settled?”
Buffy couldn’t seem to stop blushing, but she grinned and nodded.
Spike, too, gave a grudging dip of his head. “Only to keep her here, mind,” he said. He shot a shy glance at Buffy. “Make you happy.”
“Oh,” Buffy stiffened. “Happy!” She turned toward Angel. “What about the…happy?”
“The curse?” Angel asked. He shook his head. “Not a problem. I can…perform. But I’m not about to get all blissful seeing you and the grooming-tip-deprived cuddling and cooing.”
“I’m shagging for the good of all mankind,” Spike said. “Makes you stop and think.”
“Makes me gag,” Angel muttered, as they started for the street arm in arm in arm.
END THIS PART